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Mist - Part IV

July 28, 2017

She waited in the clouds for her charge to die so she could escort his soul to Valhalla. Duty complete, she snuck away, turned to vapor. In the early evening she drifted near the stream where she’d promised to meet him. Swirling among the foliage, she listened. Water splashed, alerted her to his presence. She moved closer, took form behind a large tree, made sure all was clear.

 

Then her eyes found him. Instead of leaving, curiosity made her stay. He’d been bathing in the stream, made his way toward the bank. Droplets glistened upon his golden, muscled skin in the light of moonrise. She drank in his masculine form. He moved sinuously, fingering his wet hair. Slowly she moved around the tree, hand sliding along the rough bark. Heart pounding, breathing erratic, she stood watching, unwilling to look away.

 

His eyes caught hers. His expression changed from stern to adoring with one glance at her. Her smile beamed with approval. He was pure masculine excellence. Fascinated with his hardening body, knowing it wrong, knowing she could lose everything, she could not make herself go. Her eyes consumed every inch of him. She longed to be in his arms, sought his fuel for her fire.

 

No words were spoken, none were needed. Standing before him, his eyes blazed into her being. He gripped her upper arms, pulled her into his naked body, devoured her with his fierce kisses. Their hearts pounded against each other in synchronization.

 

His hands clenched the material of her dress. She pressed closer. He pulled the fabric up to reveal her legs. His hand glided along her thigh, hooked her knee, raised her leg. With him hard against her, she shivered. Wanted, needed. What, she wasn’t sure, but when he lifted her, she gripped his shoulders, wrapped her legs tightly around his hips, rubbed against him.

 

A growl emanated from deep in his throat as he lay her down. “Mist, we mustn’t do this. Make me stop,” he whispered.

 

“No.” Certain her heart would burst with what had to be love, how could it be wrong?

 

“You must. You’re a goddess.” He groaned, rested his forehead against hers.

 

“I belong to you, Sigvarðr. I want no one else. Take what is yours.”

 

He groaned, clenched his teeth when she took him in hand, squeezing, tempting. She dissolved her gown which made him gasp. His gaze raked her naked form, followed by his hands, his mouth, discovering every inch, tasting, pleasuring. No going back now. And she cared not.

 

“I’ll never allow another to touch you. You belong to me,” he growled.

 

Her body heated with his intensity. She smiled, please with his possessiveness. “And you belong to me.” She offered herself with no reservation. She wanted no other. His clever hands, tongue, lips set fire to her being. Ready to combust from the urgent inferno, her body writhed at its own tempo in response to the sensations he created. She cried his name.

 

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